


New Guy

by gayfee (lavagay)



Category: Drawfee
Genre: Drawfee - Freeform, I don't fuckin know my dudes, M/M, Schmando
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-08-14 14:22:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16494272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavagay/pseuds/gayfee
Summary: Who's that guy? It's Schmidt.





	1. Nando Finds A Stray

Hernando Sy was perusing the produce aisle of Korb Torson’s when a tall, dark, and handsome figure tapped on his tee-shirt clad shoulder.

Startled, Hernando turned around and blushed when he discovered the man was none other than comedy television star Max Greenfield, and there he was, pink-faced and dumbfounded, choosing between two brands of arugula in sweatpants.

“Uh, hi!” he sputtered, in that groggy voice you use when it’s the first time you’ve spoken to anyone that day,  “You’re-- I’m… a big fan of New Girl!”

“I’m sorry?” the man, whose features were considerably darker and better defined in person, tilted his handsome face in confusion.

“The, uh, the show…”

“My apologies, I haven’t watched much television.”

Hernando was mortified. This man was not, in fact, the actor who plays Schmidt in New Girl.

“I’m sorry, I had you confused for someone else--”

“No time. I need your help.” Grave. Without a hint of embarrassment or anxiety. Hernando could not relate.

“Okay, okay. How can I help?”

“I don’t know, exactly. I’m just… lost.”

Hernando blinked his eyes tightly together in frustration and shook his head. At 9:42 PM, he did not come to his local Korb Torson’s to interact with anyone. But this Schmidt-lookin’ motherfucker was hot, and the lost-puppy look was endearing, even in spite of the long, black, pea-coat that would probably be foreboding on literally anyone else approaching another person at such a close proximity at 9:42 at night in a shitty chain supermarket.

Despite his best judgement (likely because it was then 9:44 PM on a Friday night and he was buying arugula in his sweatpants to make a salad to eat in bed, alone, while he starts and probably finishes season 2 of Big Mouth, which he keeps telling himself he’ll “get around to” as if that’s an important commitment of his), he engages further with the sexy man.  

“Sure, okay. Well, er.. can you tell me your name?”

“I… I don’t know?”

Hernando’s hand slides down his face as he sighs.

“You don’t… okay, how did you get here?”

“I was drawn here.”

“Like… some... _force_... compelled you here?”

“No, what? No. Someone drew me. And now I’m here.”

“Well shit, Schmidt.”

  
  


The pale man trailed Hernando around the store as he finished running his errand, touching just about everything and asking way too many questions.

Only after “how do you tell if a pineapple is ripe?”, “what could possibly compel a rational human person to consume a pickle flavored potato chip?”, “if white bread and whole grain bread are two distinct types of bread, how can there be whole-grain white bread?”, and “would Cheetos be considered a chip?” did the man ever deign to ask:

“By the way, what’s your name?”

“Hernando.”

“Er… nando.”

“Hernando. Silent H.”

“Where is the H?”

“At the beginning.”

“Her. Nando.”

“But the H is silent.”

“Ruh-nando.”

“I don’t know how you’re not getting this.”

 

A beat. Contemplative silence falls as the man furrows his strong brow.

“Nando.”

“Sure, Schmidt. Nando.”

“Why do you keep calling me Schmidt?”

“‘Cause you look like Schmidt. From New Girl. It’s uncanny.”

“I don’t understand that reference.”

“I know.”

More contemplative silence.

“So let me get this straight,” Nando considers aloud, “you show up, from nowhere, in a Korb Torson’s, somehow Frankenstein-ed into existence, having full knowledge of the English language but not your own name, or apparently anything about grocery items?”

“Frankenstein-ed is not a verb with which I am familiar. Is that another allusion to this ‘New Girl’?”

“No. I’m not just a guy who makes a lot of ‘New Girl’ references.”

“I have known you for,” he checks his watch, “approximately 30 minutes, and you have referenced New Girl on three occasions. That is, on average, one New Girl reference every 10 minutes, or 6 in an hour.”

“Great, he knows math, too,” he directs to no one in particular.

“I am just saying that perhaps you are, and I quote, ‘a guy who makes a lot of ‘New Girl’ references.”

“Whatever.”

 

Few words were spoken between them from that point until after Nando had checked out his groceries.

“So… is there somewhere I can take you?”

“I do not have a home.”

Nando is suddenly reminded of a time in first grade when he brought home a stray black cat and hid it in his bedroom until his mother found out and yelled at him for it. Of course, now he’s going on 30 and lives alone, so no one can yell at him for bringing home a stray New Girl doppleganger he found at the grocery store…

“I guess you’re staying with me, then, Schmidt.”


	2. Nando and Schmidt are Not Boyfriends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I guess these are gonna be published less as full chapters and more as like scenes I guess? I'm just publishing as I go. Here's more.

When they arrived at Nando’s apartment, they were immediately accosted by the old woman who lives across the hall. 

“Mr. Sy!,” called the stout woman in her long island accent, “honey! Is this your boyfriend? Don’t you two paint a pretty picture!” 

“Schmidt is not my boyfriend, Mrs. Sommers,” answered Nando, while Schmidt answered: 

“Yes, we are boyfriends.” 

Both men frowned, as did the woman.

“I guess I’ll leave you two to figure that one out.” Aside, she mock-whispered to the newcomer, “don’t you worry, Schmidty, he’ll come around. Aren’t you just adorable!” 

She closed the door behind her, as did Nando as he beckoned Schmidt to follow him inside. 

 

“Why did she call you Sy? I thought your name was Arnando.”

“Hernando. And my last name is Sy.” 

“Last name? How many names do you have?”

“Three. Hernando Romeo Sy. Most people have a first, middle, and last name.”

“Is Schmidt my first, middle, or last name?”

“Uh… I don’t know. I guess last?”

“What is my first name?” 

“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far in New Girl yet?” 

“Oh.” 

 

“Why did you say you were my boyfriend?”

“Are we not friends?” 

“Sure, we’re friends, but we’re not boyfriends.”

“Aren’t we boys?” 

“Well, yeah, but...”

“Do you not have a penis?” 

Nando blushed. 

“Yes, I have a,” _ how does Schmidt speak with absolutely no shame? _ “...penis… but that doesn’t mean,” he started, then digressed, “I am not equipped to explain the incongruence between sex and gender to a newborn.”

“I am not a newborn!” 

“Anyway,” he was so flustered, “yes, we are boys; yes, we are friends. No, we are not boyfriends.” 

“I do not understand.” 

“Of course you don’t. Because you are a newborn.” 

Schmidt harrumphed and settled down on the couch, pouting in stone silence. 

 

Nando elected to disengage and put away his groceries: vegetables, protein bars, almond milk, some frozen fruit, and a bag of Lay’s Dill Pickle chips, which, upon completing his chore, he tossed in a bowl and brought to Schmidt as a peace offering. 

“You wanna cozy up and binge-watch New Girl on Hulu?” 

“I understood some of those words. Are those the pickle flavored potato chips?” 

“Yes.” 

“There is no way a rational human being could possibly enjoy such an affront to God.” 

“Try one.” 

A pause. Schmidt’s chiseled features scrunched up as he carefully studied the morsel, smelled it, then finally allowed himself to take a bite. 

He looked at Nando. 

He looked at the chip. 

He looked down. 

“I can no longer decisively call myself a rational human being.” 

 

Nando shook his head and scoffed, the corners of his cheeks tilting up in an unwitting smile. 

“Scooch over,” he demanded as he settled next to Schmidt, their legs meeting with the unnecessary proximity. 

Nando queued the TV to play the first episode of New Girl. 

 

  
“Oh my God,” said Schmidt, with horror in his eyes as the colors of the screen lit his skin in different hues. In between handfuls of pickle chips, he whispered:

 

“I  _ am  _ Schmidt.” 


	3. You Can't Change Me (You Can't Change In Here)

**Nando’s Apartment**

“But why do we have to go to the mall?” 

“First of all, you only have one outfit.”

“So?”

“Second of all, It’s 2018. You’re not gonna blend in the pacific Southwest dressed like the bastard son of a prohibition agent and an Instagram model.”

“Ooh!” Schmidt perked up, “I understood some of that!” 

“Prohibition or Instagram?” 

“Prohibition.” 

“Bummer.”

  
  
  


**Mall**

“Are you fucking kidding me, Schmidt? We’ve been in here for 13 seconds and you’ve already managed to find the gayest shirt at PacSun?” 

Schmidt tilted his head in question and moved to make eye contact with Nando, but his vision was blurred by red and blue fabric as he attempted to put his fully-dressed arm into the dark green sleeve of the colorblocked long-sleeve polo. 

“Is gay bad?” 

“No, gay’s not bad I just meant-- listen, buddy, you can’t put a shirt on over your suit and coat” 

Schmidt was unfazed by this. As he struggled to remove the vibrant (incredibly gay) article, he said, “I thought we were gay.” 

“We’re not. I mean,” flustered, as always, “I am. And you might be. And there’s nothing wrong with that.  _ We’re _ not. Like. Gay...  _ together _ .” 

Finally out of the tangled mess of sleeves and color, Schmidt frowned and pursed his lips. He proceeded to take of his coat as he said:

“If you’re gonna be gay, and I’m gonna be gay, doesn’t it make more sense for us to just be gay together? That’s more... efficient, no? I mean, if you don’t want to invite me to be gay with you, fine, it’s just pretty rude of you to--”

“That doesn’t make any...” Nando removed his forehead from his face-palming hands to see Schmidt had nearly fully unbuttoned his wrinkled white dress shirt. “Dude, you can’t change here! We’re in the middle of the store.”

“You sure have a lot of rules.”

“It’s kind of common sense, Schmidt.”

Schmidt’s fingers paused between buttons, leaving his chest almost fully exposed beneath the parted breasts of the shirt. 

He made chilling eye-contact. 

“I’m not common, Nando.” 

“I know.” 

“I’m sorry I can’t be.” 

Nando let out an exasperated sigh. His features softened, guilty and sympathetic.

“Don’t be. Get whatever gay shirts you want.”

 

Though he feared that Schmidt would stick out like a sore thumb, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the little fashion show Schmidt put on in the dressing rooms of every store they went into. Maybe Nando could learn more from his new upsettingly attractive man-baby friend than Schmidt could learn from him.

 

The shirt: https://www.pacsun.com/pacsun/bob-colorblock-long-sleeve-polo-shirt-8244485.html?OriginId=GOG&XCIDP=P:tees-men_google_pro_shopping_mens_none&k_clickid=df92d7d2-3d8e-41cd-a175-6beecc9806dd&gclid=Cj0KCQiA6JjgBRDbARIsANfu58Hs5U4mLZzSKQxSSe3zX-o_r_TzUylWu47NiYOZvSkiMi2e7nFV4wMaAl_rEALw_wcB


End file.
